


Presence

by Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains



Category: Ghost in the Shell (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Discussion, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Original Movie Continuity, Post-Canon, Post-Innocence, With a bit of SAC Major mixed in, sort of a confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains/pseuds/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains
Summary: It was after the Locus Solus incident that she began to ‘drop by,’ as she labelled it.~~~~~The Major goes to visit someone important.  They talk about nothing, and everything.
Relationships: Batou/Kusanagi Motoko
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Presence

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song "Presence" by Nils Petter Molvær, which you can listen to [here.](https://youtu.be/OIP3n2IKzoE) I think the dark ambient tone of his music fits the mood of GITS fairly well.

It was after the Locus Solus incident that she began to ‘drop by,’ as she sometimes humorously labelled it.Before the incident, she had convinced herself that it was for the best if she didn’t.That it was best if the separation between them held a degree of permanence.That a clean break was the best sort of break to make.That her existence was a new existence now, and she shouldn’t attempt to hold onto the artifacts and environments of a previous life.The reincarnation of sorts which she had undergone wasn’t a reversible process.It was best not to act as though it was.It was best to let go, and to explore the world she now inhabited.There was, to be certain, plenty to hold her attention. 

After the incident, this logic fell apart.She had returned to something of her old life.She had returned to him.That was now an irreversible truth in and of itself.There was no use continuing to pretend that she had discarded it all, cast it off like so much synthetic skin and sinew.It seemed that some trappings could be shed easily, sloughed off like a larvae’s casing, but other filaments were entwined deeper within the self, indistinguishable from the ghost.

These elements of identity aside, the words she had spoken to him remained, a persuasive enough case in their own right.She had said that she would be with him on the net.Always.Perhaps the word ‘promise’ had not passed between them, but the statement was recognizable as a vow nonetheless.She could not justify reneging on it now.That was not an element of her identity.Especially when it came to him.And so, she had given up on absolute separation.To explain it simply enough, in terms they both might have once used, it was no longer a feasible operation.

It was not a continual thing.She felt as though that would have crossed a line.To make it excessively habitual would have been an invasion of his privacy, of his world.Though she had finally recognized that she could not wholly abandoned that world, she saw just as well that it was no longer hers to inhabit fully either.Nor did she wish to do so.She could be sufficiently occupied for an eternity by the realms she wandered now.

Yet, though it was not so often as to be habitual, there was some sense of regularity to it.There was no set schedule, no allotted time when she would ‘pay a visit,’ or anything of that nature, but it was rare for more than a month or two to pass without her path leading her, one way or another, to him.

She would never stay long.It was a fleeting, ephemeral sort of relationship.On certain occasions, she suspected he was aware of her presence, other times, she was sure he was not.These encounters took different forms.The vast majority of the time, they were nothing more than quiet observation, her watching him through a camera or a program, either his physical form or his virtual presence.If he knew of her vigil, he never gave any sign of it, his actions ordinary enough as to suggest he was oblivious.Then again, she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t one to show outward signs of his thoughts.And she never sought to know the contents of mind, even though she possessed the ability to enter freely into it and discover its secrets if she was so inclined.That was a line which she was intent not to cross, regardless of the ease with which she might have done so.With him, that would be too great a violation.

There were occasions when she interacted with him, few and far between though they were.She left messages for him, often in unexpected places.Untraceable messages which deleted themselves after they had been read.Sometimes he would leave messages in reply.It didn’t much matter where he left them.It was never difficult for her to find them.She knew his patterns well enough.

Rarer still, there were a few times, a number calculable on the digits of no more than two hands, when they talked to each other.Always over a cybercomm of course, via secure channels which were created for the purpose of the conversation, and ceased to exist shortly afterwards.They never met face to face.Possessing a physical form lacked the appeal it had once had.She remained capable of it, she did not doubt that, but the desire was by and large absent.The last body she had used remained in its place, in a suspended state within a secure locker, maintained, but ignored, as she wished it to be.

She didn’t keep strict track of how long this cycle went on for.She had found that when one no longer inhabited a physical form, time became a fairly abstract concept, present only in the time stamps and dates applied to data, rather than in a progressing, linear fashion.Still, she knew that it moved forward, as it always would.

She saw change in him, slow at first, but in due course quickening.There was no doubt that he was still as sharp as ever, still as strong, as quick, as dexterous as he had always been.A body which inevitably became more and more machine, and less and less organic, undergoing regular maintenance, and updating to the latest parts, made sure of that.The changes were not physical.She supposed it could be argued that they were not even mental, if one conceived and viewed the mind from a purely biological, physiological standpoint.The technological advancements which continued to be made in that area seemed to be leading, when utilized alongside all the technology which already existed to supplement and replace one’s body, toward a kind of immortality, if the existence it offered could be deemed that.She thought it increasingly likely that a time was approaching, fast approaching now, where one might live indefinitely, provided that one possessed the resources to pay for it, or served an organization (such as Section Nine) which possessed the resources.And yet, the change she saw overtake him seemed to deny this future.

The change she observed occurred in his ghost, she was sure of that much.She sensed a weariness in him first, gradually growing stronger.She was not surprised.This was an understandable development.The sort of work she had once done, and he did still, took a toll on one’s ghost, she had concluded in the years since her ‘retirement’ from Section Nine.

While the weariness on its own did not surprise her, the sadness which later came to accompany it did.She had never expected to witness sadness in him.And yet, there it was, undoubtedly so.She saw it in his actions, read it in the words he chose, and heard it in his the mental projection of his voice, not once, but twice.She never confronted him over it.Though she had her theories as to its origin, another part of her preferred not to know.It was a selfish desire, she acknowledgement that much, but one which she indulged.

Eventually, this cycle came to an end, as all things invariably do.The manner in which this ending came about was a spontaneous event, if not an unexpected one.Though she generally kept a degree of distance between them, she was consistently aware of what was occurring in his life, even during the long periods of time during which she refrained from watching it unfold.In a way, she kept an ‘ear open’ to the goings-on of his world.She monitored his state with some component of her consciousness, her boundaries wide enough to make this possible.

It was through this manner of surveillance that she became aware of something which bespoke of trouble to her.Though she was predominantly no longer disposed toward quick actions, in this particular case, she had an inkling that a dilatory approach could have adverse consequences.She could sense a distance widening, a disconnect taking place, redolent of threads fraying.And so, it was with this image in her mind that she found herself in the neon gloaming of the electric city, her presence physical once more.There was something vaguely foreign to it all now.It had been years, she realized, since she had walked through it, driven upon its twisting rivers of concrete, asphalt, and metal.What had once been definite, a tactile domain, was now more surreal than a digital lifestyle.That was a strange thought to parse.Her intent, however, directed the nature of her actions through the uncertainty which she encountered.A whisper, echoing up from the strands of her ghost, told her that it would be best to meet him physically this time.

She reached out across a secure cybercomm as she approached, but there was no response.Truthfully, she hadn’t expected one.He was taciturn in happier times.She doubted he would wish to talk at all now.Hence why she had resorted to what to her now felt like a more extreme measure.There had been other options.There still were.But they were not tenable to her conscience, even in its current shape.His agency was something she wouldn’t impede on.

The safe house where he was now was much like her recollection of it.Little had changed from a material perspective.The current atmosphere of it, however, stood in stark contrast to the one which had permeated it during her last time there.Then, it had been a gateway, the port through which infinite circuitry was accessible.Now, it was almost oppressive, a reminder of the constraints of the form which she inhabited, even if it was only a temporary thing.Her ghost felt oddly pinched by the confines of the body about it as she moved toward the door, past the serried vehicles, whose ranks were once again complete with the addition of the one she had ‘borrowed’ years ago.A small, dry sort of smile quirked her lips as she observed them.Some of his interests remained unchanged.She imagined the gym which undoubtedly occupied one of the rooms in the house before her was a testament to this fact as well.

She gave a knock on the door, more a token of some unspoken respect than one of patience.It was a peremptory sound, strident to her auditory program.She looked up to where she knew the camera was situated, waiting for him to see just who his visitor was.She had sent him an image of this body on her way over, realizing that he wouldn’t recognize it otherwise.

The door opened slowly.His eyes had the same lingering quality, sleepless and ceaseless as they had always been.When he spoke, the voice was sonorous.She half thought it was harsher than it had been years before.“I didn’t think you’d go to all this trouble.”It was a joke, she saw that.A strained one.

“Are you going to invite me in then?”She riposted.

“Why the hell not?”He stepped back to let her pass by.

They both sat in his living room.The space felt empty, too subdued.Her eyes fell over the aluminum decorations that littered the floor.He said nothing, cracking open another can as he sank into his seat.He had offered her one, she had declined it.He hadn’t seemed in the least bit surprised.

“How old was he?”She asked after the silence had held sway for a couple of minutes.

He swallowed a mouthful of beer.“Thirteen.”

Her eyes wandered over to the record that spun on a turntable by his chair.One of the antiques he loved.The sound which seeped out from the speakers below it was tinted in melancholia, the sentimental croon of a tenor saxophone, she thought.A jazz piece, no doubt.He had always had an odd nostalgia for those, as if he longed for the tones of an era he hadn’t even lived through himself.

Music was one thing she rarely, if ever, gave much thought to in the digital realm.She had never held the same affinity he had for it.She noted, as her sensors took in the piece, that she had come to associate jazz with him.And arguably, in a way, she had missed it similarly.

“That’s impressive,” she observed, tapping a finger on the arm of her seat to the rhythm of the song. 

“Yeah, guess so,” he agreed.His eyes didn’t disclose it, but she could tell from the angle of his neck that he was watching her the motion of her finger.She kept tapping anyway.

“When?”She asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Couple of days now,” he answered.His gaze moved away from her fingers; it fell on a feed bowl at the base of his chair, empty now.She said nothing.After a moment, he added.“Had him cremated.”She noted the urn on the side table.

“Never pinned you for the sentimental type,” she remarked.He followed her eyes.His shoulders rose into a slight shrug.

“Neither did I.Guess I’m losin’ my touch.”

She shrugged this time.The motion was a peculiar thing.Not a move she had used often. She was unfamiliar with it as a result.“It happens,” she replied.The statement said nothing really, but simultaneously everything there was to be said.

His lips bowed into a thin, short-lived smile.“Think I might retire,” he announced.It wasn’t much of a revelation to her.

“They’ll let you?”There was skepticism in her voice.

He snorted at this.“Chief wouldn’t have.But Togusa?Yeah.Think he still looks up to me or something.”

“Why did you turn the Chief down?”The topic had never come up between them before, but he knew well enough to what she was referring.

“Not much of the leading type,” he replied.She knew what was coming next.“I work best alone.”

She raised an eyebrow, and changed the subject again.“Togusa lets you get away with solo work?”

He shook his head.“I wish.Partner’s not too bad though.Bioroid.Doesn’t talk too much.”

“Sounds perfect for you,” she opined.

“Guess so,” he admitted.“Be better if he was good in a fight.”

“Not so quick on the draw?”

“He’s not you,” he replied.There it was at last.The truth of the matter between them.

She didn’t say anything back to him, and he didn’t press further.Piano was the star of the piece playing now.Somewhere, deep in her memory, she knew she’d heard it before.Neither of them spoke for a good while.

“What are you going to do afterwards?”She queried as the song drew to its conclusion, the final arpeggio resolving.

“Don’t know yet,” he replied after a long pause as the next song began.

“Doesn’t sound like you,” she observed.“Thought you liked to stay busy.”

If his eyes could have, she imagined they would have narrowed in response to this.“Well,” he mused, inclining his head a bit as a warm guitar warbled into the room, “There’s this girl I used to know.Thought I might look her up.See where she's at.”

“I was under the impression she disappeared,” she said, a hint that spoke of humor in her voice.

“Depends on how you look at it,” he countered.

“You were always damn good at finding things,” she conceded.

“Some things more than others,” he said, raising his can to his lips again.

“What would you do if she looked you up first?”She posed a hypothetical question.

“Can't say I can see that happening anytime soon,” he answered, leaning back in his seat, playing along with the inquiry.

“Say she did though.What would you do?”

“Guess I’d probably have to invite her in, wouldn’t I?”He replied, throwing in a question of his own in the process.

“Probably the wisest thing for you to do,” she concurred, the tiniest shadow of a grin creeping onto her face.“She might not be too happy if she came all the way out to see you just for you to close the door in her face, after all.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine her being too thrilled by that,” he admitted.

“What would you talk to her about?”

He set his can down on the table beside his chair, and raised a hand to his face, resting his chin against his fist as he leaned forward a bit.“Knowing us, we’d both say a whole lot of nothing before we said anything.”

“I find that pretty hard to believe myself,” she opined, the shadow of a smirk growing stronger on her face.“I thought you preferred to cut right to the chase.”

“Always have,” he assented.“But the two of us, seems like we always had a way of skirting around stuff.Guess we both were too good at what we did.”

“Sounds like you’re a better dancer than she gave you credit for,” she mused.

“That’s one hell of a mental image,” he replied with a dry, rough chuckle.“A guy like me, trying to dance?Sounds like some sort of comedy bit.”He retrieved his beer and took a drink.

“You never know, maybe things would be different now if you’d tried it," she said ambiguously as the wail of a muted trumpet signaled the commencement of a new number on the record. 

He looked over to the turntable, ignoring her comment.“Gonna have to flip it after this one.”

They took another break to listen to the piece.It was a long, plaintive track, somber and mournful.He stood when it was finished, and lifted the needle.As he flipped the record, she inquired, “Why do you like that thing?They were out of style by the time you were born, weren’t they?”

As the second side of the record began to play, he strode past her, heading into the kitchen.His voice carried back to her.“That’s why I like it.Makes me think of lives I never could have lived, even if I wanted to.Call it a guilty pleasure.”She heard the fridge open.“Sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m sure,” she replied.

“Suit yourself.”He reentered her field of vision, walking back in the direction of his chair.

“Guilty pleasures, huh?Aren’t those dangerous in your line of work?”

“What isn’t?”He deadpanned as he reclaimed his seat.“And what is this anyway, an interrogation?”

“Maybe so,” she replied, her eyes glinting.

“Great, just what I needed,” he remarked, cracking open his new drink.

“I’d say so,” she said casually.Her voice hardened a bit.“You going to keep dancing or not?”

“Like I said before,” he responded.“I don’t dance.”He took a long drink, bringing the can down firmly when he was done.

“Seems to me like you do,” she shot back, not about to be put off so easily.“And normally,” she continued, “I’d be fine with that.But let’s just say it’s been a while, and I’m not quite as graceful as I once was.”

He laughed at this, the same rough sound as earlier.“I doubt that.You always could outmaneuver me.”

“But we both knew the routine,” she reminded him.

“Yeah.We did,” he agreed tonelessly.

“So which one of us is going to stop first?”

“Don’t look at me.”

“Well,” she began, “Myself, I think it should be the one who didn’t have to come all the way out here.Seems only fair.”

He glared back at her insofar as his unyielding eyes allowed him to do so.“You think so, huh?”

“I do,” she reiterated.“And didn’t you always have a sense of justice?”

“That’s what you’re gonna call it now?”

“I think that’s what it is.”

“I’m gonna differ with you there,” he rejoined, tipping his can back again.

“Why’s that?”She asked, having a good idea the answer she would receive.

“Because I’m not the one who disappeared in the first place,” he answered.He shook his can, scowling as he discovered it was empty.

“You can’t blame me for that,” she stated calmly.

“I can’t,” he agreed, setting his can down with something akin to disappointment etched into his features.“Sometimes I wish I could though.And you can’t blame me for that.”

“I can’t,” she echoed his own words.

He sighed, a strange action coming from him.“So you want me to stop dancing, huh?Fine, I’ll stop dancing.”

“Good.”

“So, what now?”

“That’s in your hands, isn’t it?”She returned, an understated grin stretching over her face again.

“You’re not coming back, are you?”

“Tonight is an exception to a rule I'm not planning to rewrite,” she confirmed, telling him what she was well aware he already knew, but needed to hear anyway.

He paused for a moment, looking as thoughtful as he could look.She let him contemplate the facts, lidding her eyes partway as she listened to the music, now the undulating strains of a piano once again.

“Think I could make it out there?”He queried, his voice a little softer than usual.

“It’s vast,” she replied.“Infinite even,” she added.“But I think you’d do alright.”

“At least I’d be with someone who knew the ropes better than me, huh?”

“That you would,” she agreed.

Their conversation lulled again for a time.The piano came to an end, replaced by the swell of horns.

“Let me ask you something,” he requested.“Do they have jazz out there?”

“If you look for it, I guarantee you'll be able to find it,” she affirmed.

“I guess that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’s not,” she opined, opening her eyes fully once more and tilting her head a bit to the side.“You don’t miss this once you’re there.”

“You act like I have a whole lot to miss.”He glanced around the room, his expression wry.

She shrugged lightly.“I think that’s something only you can say.”

He looked back to her, then lowered his head down towards the floor.“I suppose you’re right.”

“When should I expect you?”

He raised his head once more.“I’ll talk to Togusa tomorrow.Day after that, I should be free.”

She said nothing, keeping her peace.He searched her face, but couldn’t seem to decipher her expression.At last, he asked.“You wouldn’t mind having a guy like me around out there, in all that infinity?”

Her lips broke into a subtle smile.“Well, I think the best company for a loner is another loner, don’t you?”

He angled his head as he regarded her.“What, two negatives equal a positive, that sort of thing?”

“Something like that,” she concurred, restraining her voice more than she normally did.She was silent for a bit after this, before tagging on, “We both know I did my fair share of dancing too.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t dancing on the same floors,” he observed, a sprinkle of something bitter hidden in the edge of his voice.

“How do you know that?”She countered, force returning to her speech.

He looked more surprised than she had seem him look in a very long span of time.He didn’t say anything for a minute, jazz filling the void.He eventually shrugged.“I’d say it was a whisper in my ghost, but I don’t think you’d believe me.”

“I wouldn’t,” she affirmed.

“So, you’re saying . . . ?”He let the unspoken words hang in the air between them, floating almost like a third, disembodied presence in the house.

“You know what I’m saying,” she replied.He was wrong if he expected her to spell it out for him.

He nodded, very slowly, to this, like a man in lost in the depths of a trance.She pushed herself up and out of her seat without warning.“I’m going now,” she stated, her tone even.This seemed to break him out of his spell.

He looked over at her, saying nothing.She met the gaze of his sleepless eyes, and held it for an interminable period of time.“Alright,” he intoned at last, his voice low and unwavering.“Let me see you out.”

She dipped her head, acknowledging this, and turned for the door.He followed behind her.Outside, she spun about to face him once more, his towering figure framed in the doorway.“Two days, I’ll be back,” she informed him.“Be ready.”It was more a command than a question.He only nodded, accepting the order, committing to a silent vow.She moved to depart.

“‘Night Major,” he said, the words vanishing into the darkness between them, though his eyes still pierced it to the point he could see her without difficulty.He wasn’t expecting a response.She halted, however, and shot an inscrutable look over her shoulder.In return, his expression grew puzzled.

“Goodnight Batou,” she offered in return, a quiet salutation, and an unusual one coming from her.She didn’t do goodbyes.It wasn’t her style.He almost said something of the sort, but she continued walking further into the gloom before he could.His eyes followed her for a few more steps, but he didn’t attempt to speak again.The moment to do so had passed.He slipped back inside, sealing the door behind him.As he did so, he heard the sound of a car starting.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you made it through this fic, please feel free to leave a comment with feedback. This is my first foray into GITS, and I'm interested to see how well other people think I captured the characters of Kusanagi and Batou.


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